Rebekah

by Jill Eileen Smith

  “He inherited his wealth from his father.” Selima placed the last garment on top and closed the lid, then sank onto Rebekah’s bed.

  “True.” Rebekah removed the earrings first, then set the pieces of jewelry one by one in a stone, fabric-lined casket. “But he has good men working for him, so he is likely to keep it.” She sat on the bed next to Selima. “I cannot believe I am about to wed.”

  Selima put a hand to her mouth and giggled. “You are about to marry a prince after all!”

  Rebekah smiled, and her stomach fluttered in anticipation. Though they had not signed an agreement yet, there was no backing out of this now. They had accepted the gifts and given the man their word. It was enough. She would go with Eliezer and his men some day in the near future and marry a cousin she had never met.

  “We still have time here, though,” Selima said, “to get used to the idea. Tonight was like the betrothal. You won’t have to leave for at least six months. Maybe even a year.” She yawned and stood. “Shall I get you some food from the cooking room? You should eat something.”

  Rebekah’s stomach rumbled now, a mixture of hunger and anticipation. “You could bring me some dates and almonds. I couldn’t eat fish tonight.”

  Selima nodded and left the room while Rebekah walked to the window and looked out at the dark sky.

  What are you like, cousin of mine?

  A thousand thoughts, images of rumors she had heard of her uncle Abraham during her childhood, stories of the Creator speaking to him and calling him to leave his homeland, filled her mind.

  Adonai has called you to leave as well.

  She stilled as the idea moved through her, seeing again the man who had spoken to her that day on the ridge. Laban’s plans for her had not succeeded. She would be free of her brother’s designs the moment she left home with these men, embracing a whole new adventure. Like Abraham and Sarah had done.

  She shivered again, but this time from excitement and even a hint of joy. She would marry the promised son of her aunt and uncle and move into a new future God was calling her to. She would go in faith and meet this cousin and become his wife.

  Laban stifled a yawn as he bid the last of Abraham’s men good night. He turned to head down the hallway toward his private room when his mother rushed toward him and clutched his arm.

  “What good fortune this is, my son! My daughter will finally wed a man worthy of her status.” She smiled, and he suddenly noticed the age lines at the corners of her eyes and how drawn her cheeks had become since his father died. “We must start at once to prepare the finest linens and collect wool from the best of your flocks to send with her. The betrothal should last at least six months, but a year would be much better.” She moved away from him to pace the wide room. “We must whitewash the house and store plenty of wine at the next harvest for the feast. Surely Abraham’s son will come to claim her and bring his household to celebrate with ours.”

  Laban shook his head, trying to clear the drowsy feeling the wine had produced. “There is plenty of time to talk of these things and prepare for the wedding tomorrow.”

  “No, no, you must listen to me now.”

  He had never seen her so enthusiastic.

  “We must secure the promise from Abraham’s servant to set a day for him to return for her. Normally, if they lived nearby, we could allow him to come with surprise and the sound of the ram’s horn, but with such a distance to travel, we will need to plan, to clear some of the land for their tents.” She leaned in closer. “You must take some of the coins I know you are hoarding and purchase the best quality wines and spices . . . plenty of spices . . .”

  Her words ran like rushing water, and Laban blinked hard, awakening to her concerns. She was right, of course. There was much to be done to impress his wealthy uncle.

  He placed a hand on his mother’s stout shoulders, forcing her to stop pacing. “I will speak to the servant in the morning and secure from him what he plans to do. He may not want to wait a year—perhaps six months?”

  “Ten months. We cannot accept less.” She turned a decisive look on him, and he acquiesced with a nod.

  “Ten months.” He kissed her cheek. “Now settle down, Ima, and let me sleep.”

  The scent of toasted wheat rose from the griddle as Rebekah cooked flatbread for their guests the following morning. Deborah and Selima worked beside her while Laban’s wives chopped dates and mixed them with water to cook into a syrupy mixture. Her mother bustled about, setting platters of cheese and olives on the low table. Several of Eliezer’s men had begun to trickle into the sitting room, where Laban already waited.

  “Shalom, peace and health to you, my brothers,” Laban said, standing to greet Eliezer. “Come, eat and make your heart light.” He motioned to the places they had taken the night before.

  The men did as Laban requested, and Rebekah set before them a plate of the hot flatbread and a jar of warm date syrup.

  “Send me on my way to my master,” Eliezer said.

  Silence followed the comment, and Rebekah stumbled, clutching the pillar between the two rooms for support. Her heart quickened its pace. So soon? The implication was clear that she would accompany him.

  She slipped into the cooking room, out of sight of the men, to listen. Her mother moved past her to stand along the wall of the sitting room with a full view of their conversation.

  “Let the girl remain with us ten days or so, then you may go,” Laban said.

  At the distinctive sound of her mother clearing her throat, Rebekah peeked back into the room where the men sat at the table.

  Laban glanced at their mother, then looked back at Eliezer. “In truth, we will need at least ten months to prepare for a proper wedding celebration.” He gave the servant his most charming smile, the one she had seen him use to coax even his enemies to bend to his will. The one he had used on her to convince her he had her best interests at heart, when in truth, he continually put her off to serve his own selfish ends.

  Eliezer shook his head. “Do not detain me, now that Adonai has granted success to my journey. Send me on my way so I may go to my master.”

  Laban looked clearly troubled, his glance skirting from Eliezer to Nuriah. Rebekah saw the distress in her mother’s eyes, making her own heart constrict. Once she left with the servant, she would never see her family again. Could she bear such a thing?

  Her mother stepped closer to Laban, surprising her, and bent low toward his ear, but her words carried to Rebekah behind them. “We cannot possibly send her away so quickly! Is there to be no wedding? You cannot let them.”

  As her mother’s only daughter, could she deny the woman the chance to dance and sing and meet her daughter’s new husband?

  Laban put a hand over their mother’s where it rested on his shoulder. “We must do what is best for Rebekah, Ima. If this is of Adonai . . .” He let his words trail off.

  Her brother Bethuel walked into the sitting room at that moment, his presence filling the archway. “Let’s call the girl and ask her about it.”

  Laban and her mother looked up, startled at Bethuel’s comment. It was not like him to speak ahead of Laban or to assert his opinions so decisively. But Rebekah warmed to him now, knowing that he of all people cared what Adonai thought and what was best for her.

  She waited several heartbeats, the room heavy with silence.

  At last Laban cleared his throat, quelling their mother’s response with a look. “Very well. Ima, go at once and bring Rebekah.”

  Her mother backed away, her chin lifted in defiance. “She is standing in the cooking area, listening. Call her yourself.”

  Bethuel spoke up. “Rebekah, please come into the room.”

  She suppressed a smile that he did not wait for Laban yet again. She smoothed the fabric of her robe, feeling the heat creep into her face as she walked. She stopped near Laban’s side, opposite Eliezer.

  “Will you go with this man?” Laban asked.

  His look told her he wanted her to refuse
, to side with their mother and stay the ten months needed to make all of the preparations, to secure all of the things she must have for her new home. A bride should not go to the house of her husband empty-handed. But this was no ordinary betrothal, and she knew with one glance at Eliezer and by the accompanying peace in her heart that she dare not stay. Such an opportunity might not come again. If Abraham should die before she could return, everything could change. She felt an urgency in the air, despite the disapproval of her mother and Laban.

  She took a deep breath and glanced from one brother to the other. Bethuel’s smile and nod of encouragement lifted her spirits, reinforcing her courage, assuring her that her decision was right.

  “I will go,” she said, meeting the servant’s gaze.

  Her mother’s desperate cries followed her words.

  11

  Rebekah fingered the loom her father had given her, memories washing over her of working at it side by side with her mother and Laban’s wives. She would miss the camaraderie, the laughter, the commiserating among the women on how to live with their men. Only Deborah and Selima would go with her to her new home, a new country where everything would be unfamiliar and challenging. She sighed and set about quickly breaking down the pieces of the loom, fitting them into leather sacks to pack and hang from the camel’s side.

  “So you are truly going.” Her mother’s plump body cast a shadow as she passed the threshold and crossed in front of the window, her tone holding traces of bitter emotion.

  Rebekah could not bear to look up and meet her gaze, lest she give way to her own uncertain tears.

  “Yes,” she said, turning away from her mother to the wall where woven baskets stood. She hurriedly transferred skeins of dyed wool from the baskets into goatskin sacks and tied them at the neck. She looked up at Selima’s approach.

  The girl seemed to sense the tension in the room, stopping short just inside the threshold.

  “Can you take these to the men, Selima?” Rebekah hefted the heavy sack of wool into Selima’s arms.

  “Yes, mistress.” She glanced over Rebekah’s shoulder. “I will be back for the loom.” She hurried through the open archway while Rebekah looked to see if she had forgotten anything.

  “I wish you would wait.” Her mother took a step closer, within arm’s length.

  Rebekah faced her, surprised at her mother’s sudden change of tone. She was not one to show emotion, nor had she seemed to care much for Rebekah’s feelings. But one look into her mother’s eyes showed Rebekah a side to the woman she had rarely seen.

  “I know, Ima. I will miss you.” Despite their differences, it was true.

  Tears glistened in her mother’s eyes, though she quickly blinked them away, and Rebekah stepped forward slowly, awkwardly, and pulled her into a warm embrace. “Don’t cry, Ima.” She swallowed, forcing back a sudden swell of her own emotion. “Surely we will see each other again.”

  She needed to believe their goodbyes were not permanent.

  “You will not be back. Abram and Sarai never returned.” Her mother stepped away from her embrace and crossed her arms, a posture she used whenever she was determined to get her way.

  “Abraham and Sarah,” Rebekah corrected, noting the scowl deepen along her mother’s brow at the mention of their new names, “were not able to return, but they were much older. Surely their son will find traveling for a visit no hardship.” She would not let her mother dissuade her. She mustn’t!

  “Why did he not come here himself to claim a bride? Why did not Abraham send the son with his servant?” Her mother whirled about, her back to Rebekah, another stance meant to show her displeasure, to elicit a change of heart. Rebekah was in no mood to placate her mother’s pouts.

  “I have more to pack.” She walked past her mother into her sleeping chamber, her heart beating fast. Such encounters always made her anxious. She did not wish to cause strife, but she could not go back on her word now, could not choose her mother over a husband.

  A sigh lifted her chest, and she willed her racing heart to slow. She strode to the carved wooden chest that stood against one wall and lifted the lid. Selima must have already emptied it of the many new garments, along with the ones Rebekah already owned. The stone casket containing her jewels was gone from the low table, and her pallet was rolled up, waiting by the door. How quickly it had all been stowed for travel! Her pulse quickened again as she moved into the room, checking every corner, but nothing that could be packed onto a camel remained. The furniture would stay, as they had no way to easily transport it. Besides, Isaac would have his own tables and chests and more.

  Isaac.

  What would he be like? Her heart gave a little flutter at the simple intimacy of his name.

  She turned at a touch on her arm.

  “Everything is packed.” Deborah came alongside her, a smile wreathing her face. “Are you ready?”

  Rebekah glanced beyond her nurse, but there was no one in the hall outside. The room held an eerie quiet. “My mother?”

  “Is out in the courtyard with the rest of the household. They are waiting to send you off. Laban has commanded food prepared for us to eat along the way. A canopy stands near the edge of the court, and your mother has retrieved your best robe.” Deborah turned, extending a hand for Rebekah to lead the way to the courtyard.

  “She is going to have a ceremony without the groom?” Rebekah stood unmoving.

  Deborah nodded. “You can take the robe off before you mount the camel. Your family wishes to bless you, mistress.” She smiled, her expression reassuring. “Let them have this last moment.”

  Rebekah nodded, suddenly overcome once again with emotion. She looked over her sleeping room one last time, the memories short. She had not lived in this house in Nahor long. She had already left the house of her birth in Harran, and this room had little hold on her. Still . . .

  “I will miss this place.”

  Deborah put a comforting hand on her shoulder. “As we all will. But a new adventure awaits us. A whole new way of life.”

  “Yes.” The thought filled her with sudden excitement. “I am to be married.” A surge of joy bubbled within her. “To a prince.” She smiled. “Selima will be happy with that.”

  Deborah laughed. “Selima dreams of things too grand.”

  The sounds of music and voices of men and women filled the courtyard at Rebekah’s approach. Her mother hurried to greet her, all traces of her tears gone. “Put this on. Quickly now. Eliezer wishes to be off, and you best not keep him waiting.”

  But by this very act of ceremony they were doing just that.

  Rebekah did not say so as she clutched one of the new robes to her, stepped back into the house, and hurriedly switched from the one she was wearing. A moment later, she moved with graceful steps to stand beneath the canopy that Laban had used when he married Farah.

  Silence settled over the court, and Laban and Bethuel stepped forward, each holding a goblet of wine in his hand.

  “Our sister, may you increase to thousands upon thousands,” Laban said, lifting his cup in the air.

  Bethuel did the same, smiling into her eyes. “And may your offspring possess the gates of their enemies.”

  She knew what he meant. Enemies could be found in homes as well as foreign lands, and he had just blessed her and her children to conquer both. Her heart warmed to the thought, a little thrill passing through her.

  “Let it be so!” The small crowd shouted the words together, and the sounds of flute and lyre and drum filled the air while her mother and sisters-in-law rushed forward. She hugged each one, unable to keep the tears at bay now. They quickly helped her switch back to her traveling robe and folded the wedding robe for the long journey to Hebron.

  When the last goodbye was said, the last kiss accepted and given, Rebekah and her maids climbed onto the backs of the camels. She clutched the saddle as the beast rose, settling herself in for the long ride. The camel lurched as it started forward but soon fell into a steady rhythm. T
hey would not stop for many hours and would not reach Hebron for several weeks.

  She glanced behind her, waving to her family until they disappeared from view, then faced forward. Eliezer’s men surrounded her and her maids, a wall of protection against thieves and marauders. She did not fear for her safety. But she could not help the pang of anticipation that grew with each camel’s step closer to Canaan. She must know more about this cousin she was about to marry. When they sat about the fire later that night, she would ask questions of Eliezer and his son and the other servants. After all, a woman could not go into a marriage without knowing something about the man she was marrying.

  Deborah did not allow herself to breathe deeply, nor did she lose her worry, until the camels came to rest the first night, many hours’ distance from Nuriah’s home. In the hurry of leaving, she had managed to avoid contact with the woman, who had enough things on her mind to keep her sufficiently distracted. Deborah felt momentary relief when she learned that she and Selima would accompany Rebekah, but the truth did not fully overtake her until she stood over the fire and smelled the scents of cumin and rosemary coming from the quick lentil stew filling the camp.

  She glanced at Rebekah, whose wide-eyed look told her that she too was sensing the reality of her decision. Deborah stepped beside her and placed a hand on her arm.

  “You made a wise choice to come.” She studied Rebekah’s face, hoping her own need to be free of Nuriah did not somehow show through her expression. But she could not contain the new feeling of joy that had started to rise from a place deep within.

  Rebekah nodded. “I know.” Her head lifted, and Deborah followed her gaze toward the low hill where the camels rested just over the rise. “Have you seen Selima?”